The Necessity of Hope

“I think a man needs only one thing in life: He just needs someone to love. If you can’t give him that, then give him something to hope for. If you can’t give him that, just give him something to do.” (Flight of the Phoenix)

Hope is the last bastion for those not already living in grace. Yet grace requires faith.

Hope and faith are intertwined – That last pillar that keeps a person standing; somewhat irrelevant until all else is lost. Necessary, because the point where all is truly lost is death. Hope and faith then preserving life; Faith leaving those left behind to pursue what comes after it. Hope does not tread past the grave.

But yet faith also dwells amongst the living, a blind, compelling thing. Pushing one past all frontiers of logic, suspended in a metaphysical stronghold, full of assurances. Faith is the ultimate paradox. Only the blind can truly see. Hope is its sister wife – a blood relation one too many times over. Hope, too, strains for that stronghold, seeks that assurance. But while faith is at once the journey and the destination, hope remains the weary traveller, set back by the burdens not yet encountered. Hope is not blind because it is aware of its shortcomings, it relies on these to exist. For if there were nothing that was beyond one’s reach and every achievement was palpable, hope would fade into the collective oblivion, a space reserved for minutiae and the long forgotten, Latin still teetering on that precipice.

Hope decries oblivion, it rests in the physical, it earns in the tangible and it is dogged in its pursuit to collect. What it wants, it can see, and if the thing does not yet exist, it can be created. Hope is an atomic structure waiting to be multiplied. It requires imagination within the borders of the frank but youthful. Faith does not bend to oblivion because it exists beyond it. It reigns supreme on every plain. It encapsulates all of our desires and our guilt, it directs them to the amorphous sorter of all things beyond our control. Humanity is one big ever spinning wheel; understanding in the brief glimpses of the whirring cogs that we have no say in the speed and constancy of our continuous movement. We have free will and we have the actions we choose but there is no halting destiny. Faith is perhaps the reason some can handle this when logic has gone as far as it can go, and is still found wanting. Hope is an acceptance with a desire for a different outcome. Faith is an acceptance and submission to the different outcome. One remains a fighter, one panders to whim.

Yet whim is by far the most compelling characteristic of humankind. Inconsistent that whim and faith should be considered side by side since faith put in humankind is seldom deserved, usually lost – blind as it insists it must remain. Faith must transcend the corporeal to become a spiritual seed; rely on the whims of things beyond our understanding, if indeed those things have whims. Hope, on the other hand, relies on the catching of whim’s fancy; sailing the breeze of impulse, simply aiming to catch the right one.

And of these two that remain so intertwined, humankind must always carry both. But the better to be held is hope. For we must first concern ourselves with the here and now, and the betterment of that lot. Only then, can we dive deeper and aspire to those beyond.

Journaling Non classé Prose et Poesie

The Win

My hope for you today is that you recognise the win.

That when your continuous labour of love finally folds amidst your constant push – removes the occasional stumbling block and lets you stand a little straighter, you feel that relief;

My hope for you is that you breathe that moment, that the reprieve seeps in and reignites the hope within.

That the fear that barks around your ankles – urging you to venerate the strain we call the hustle, rolls over and plays dead to your victory lay.

That you take your moment when you have won;

do not bury the song.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie

Gifted-Public-Figure Has Died at Aged-age

“Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age.”


Seldom do I swim in a sea of envy. I lie.

Envy waits patiently for me at my door each night and stands sentry till morning. It accompanies me – walking ahead on my route each day, morphing into fantastic shapes of alternate states of being. It pops out at each corner to say “I’m an option, if you’d heed it”. It draws in with play-fighting and truth-meandering; faux soul-searching.

Envy fears all things

Gnaws all things

Seethes through things

Corrupts good things – envy never mends.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died and I, I was inspired. And envious.

Not of their death, or even of their life. But of all those who are finding or have found their purpose, and are thriving in pursuit of the thing, even at 39. And then, I was envious of their mind.

But then that left no space to grow!

That left no space to ponder my own issues and grab my own weights.

It left no roads on which to be bare-back, worn down, weary, and soaking.

It left no reason for me to find a valley to fill with a sea of my pain and dive into, so I could swim to the other side and sing. All it did was encourage me to drown.

All I heard were songs at the corner with tempos of mourning, of cries to drop down, dig a hole and bury my soul. Then use all my powerful potential to water the seeds of waste and prune their poisonous vines where I had laid them.

All it showed me was waste when all I desire is grace.


Today hit’s different. Because I saw a light, just the one.

Then others quickly rose to affirm it. So I knew it was the light at the end of a tunnel and not a train hurtling towards me on the tracks.

Gifted-Public-Figure has died at aged-age. And I took my envy of perceived accomplishment and I put it on the road. I shaped and carved and filigreed till I was sure it would hold. Then I set it beside my other fears and worries, anxieties, doubts, and excuses.

I set it with no spaces between the cracks as my next stepping stone.


Love III

“A man only needs one thing in life. He just needs someone to love. If you can’t give him that, then give him something to hope for. And if you can’t give him that, just give him something to do.”*

– James Liddle, Flight of the Pheonix


– But what if all a man needs is something to fight for? I guess he would need something to love first…



I spend a great deal of time on love. On feeling it, giving it, thinking about it, being it. I know, I know, no one can really BE love. But we turn out to be such vessels of love, how can we really be identified any other way? Think about it… I could use my toothbrush holder to hold my pens but someone would probably look at my desk like I was crazy. A pen has no business in a toothbrush holder! And they would be right, mostly. We can put other things in these beautiful bodies of ours but somewhere – out there – in this colossal universe, some supernatural being is probably screaming, “Wait! that doesn’t belong there! You’re putting anger/pride/hatred in the love holder, you silly potato!”. And that’s what I feel about love. Sure, we feel it and share it; find it then promptly lose it again. But it’s never really going anywhere because we carry it with us. Always. And that, in my opinion, is humanity’s most redeeming quality.

It’s a no-brainer, then, that I write about it. I write about love a lot. Sometimes I write about hopes and dreams and pain, but aren’t those things just connected to or other forms of love? So when I decided to start a blog (and I have decided this many times over the years. It was nearly a yearly renewal of vows I had not actually put into effect), what else could it really be about but love?

The name of this blog, in-threes, was simply another way of unpacking this running theme. They tell us always that good things come in threes (and according to one of my faves, Sarah Kay, so do bad things). We are told that the third time is the charm and are quick to start the countdown to a momentous celebration or a menial task by announcing, “On three! 1, 2, 3…” .

In my case, three is my favourite number. I was born on the third in the third season of the year (depending on the way you count, autumn is third because winter MUST come last), which also doubles as my favourite season of the year. I am an only child (but really the third of many) and most of those epic cliche sayings that I love so much come in monosyllabic threes. Live, laugh, love, for example. Or one of my all time faves –

“And so these three remain: Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love”

By this point, you get it. I’m a firm believer in love or the lack of it or the reactions to it; that we cannot live unaffected by it. And somehow, along the way, I decided that I wanted to share that  – my love of stories and opinions and travelling and food (ohhhh fooddddd). But most importantly, I wanted to share the love I have for myself, which is an ever-evolving thing. Because, love – even self love – cannot be kept selfishly.


“We cannot live unaffected by love. We are most alive when we find it, most devastated when we lose it, most empty when we give up on it, most inhumane when we betray it, and most passionate when we pursue it.”

Happy Readings and Bienvenue…